New York, 2015 - Version One Point O
by ThereIsMoreThanOneOfEverything
Summary: A story that fills in some of the blanks in 2015 before the Fringe team ambered themselves, including how Peter and Olivia fell apart. Story starts less than a week after the Observers invaded and Henrietta disappeared.
1. Hung Up

Olivia usually enjoyed the cab ride into Manhattan, watching the city evolve from a line on the horizon along 495-West into 'Gotham,' then into the usual ordered chaos of cars and buses and people packing the streets. Tonight she barely saw it, hardly noticed the spectacular light show behind the skyscrapers as the sun both set and broke through rain clouds.

She'd spent most of the ride talking Walter down.

"It's not that I don't appreciate Alicia's efforts, she's a fine assistant and a sweet girl but she is NOT you and she is NOT my son…" he was wound up, just shy of agitated, the only person Olivia knew who could yell in a whisper.

"Peter will be back soon. I don't know what kept him away this afternoon but he did text me, Walter, specifically asked me to tell you he's okay. Just… hang in there a few more hours. Please?"

It was getting dark and she could picture him standing in the lab, watching the light fade in the windows, his stress amping up at the fear of a night without either of them close at hand.

She hadn't noticed it in the first days after Henrietta disappeared, but when she surfaced from her own pain enough to see the world again Olivia was stunned by how badly it had wounded Walter, too; losing their girl.

"I understand why you agreed to go to New York."

Olivia heard him, and she wasn't sure if it was her words or her tone that did it, but Walter had calmed down noticeably in a few seconds. He sounded resigned.

"I know Phillip needs your help, but Olivia I think the three of us need each other far more than he needs you. You should both come home. You must both come home, so we can fight them together. Isn't that how we do our best work?"

"Absolutely. It'll only be a week. I promise. I'll be back in a week."

Olivia started to say goodbye but he was gone. She stared at the phone in her hands, and pressed the home key until bing-bong tone of the voice assist sounded.

"Call Peter," she said.

* * *

Peter almost missed the call, barely answered in time.

"Where are you?"

He smiled at the question popping out of her mouth before he could even say hello, at the tight note in Olivia's voice.

"I'm standing with my back against a palm tree, watching people ice skate," he said. "Flew out to SoCal this afternoon. I'm taking an accidental stroll past a fun-park full of people who are both gliding on frozen water and baking in eighty-degree temperatures. It's odd, but… somehow it doesn't begin to start to measure up to our concept of odd…"

"I just got done telling Walter you'll be home in no time."

"You misled him, then." Peter said.

"Why did you fly to…."

"You haven't asked me about Cambridge," He jumped back in. "About what I found."

"You were going to investigate a morgue," Olivia said, matter-of-fact. "The place we heard the Observers had taken the children who'd died in their custody, to see if our daughter is there. I would assume if you'd found her, you'd come to tell me in person. But you haven't. So I'm confident you didn't find her and all is … as well as it can be."

"They had them tucked away in drawers," Peter said. "Boys on one side, girls on the other. Little brown haired babies near the doorway, rows of them. Then the towheads, the redheads… and the one little blonde girl in a drawer all her own…"

He pictured her slumping, fingertips on her forehead as she listened.

"The caretaker at the morgue asked me why I was sobbing if it wasn't my daughter," Peter said. "I tried to explain; I was picturing some other dad leaning over Henrietta in some other morgue and crying, wondering who might be looking down at his little girl and hurting for her... for them both."

"Why are you in California?" she asked, and his frown hardened.

"I got a tip that they might have taken the children they kidnapped from the East Coast to the West. She could be right here, Olivia. She could be blocks away."

"She could be anywhere, Peter. She could be in any time. They know who we are, what we're capable of. If she's alive…."

He felt the full weight of her words, the realization that she was right: The Observers could have Henrietta hidden away in 1042 for all they knew. He felt like a fool. He felt more helpless than ever.

"Peter," Olivia's voice in his ear again, trembling. "Come home."

"Home to what?" he asked, and he flinched when he heard her gasp.

"Don't you dare," she gritted the words out. "Don't you dare say that to me. I told you I'm only in New York to help them get on their feet, to help Phillip get the new office coordinated…."

"You'll be there forever," Peter said. "By the next time we talk, he'll have convinced you to stay for as long as he needs you. Which is forever."

There was a brutal kind of confirmation of his fears in the way that she didn't argue.

"'Night, Olivia," he said. "I'll call you tomorrow."

It was the second time a Bishop boy had hung up on her in five minutes.


	2. Whiskey and Cheerios

Olivia let the door shut behind her and stood in the foyer, glancing around her new apartment. Her temporary apartment. Just for this week.

It was huge by Manhattan standards, almost a thousand square feet. It had three times the closet space she'd need and a dining room, for God's sake. And she knew she would spend, maybe, two hours a day awake in it.

The rooms were dark in the fast-dropping twilight, the blinds all drawn. She went around and turned on lights, took off her jacket. She had set her suitcase on the bench at the foot of the bed and was flipping it open when she heard a knock at the door.

Lifting up the little slider in the peephole box made her feel like a New Yorker, and she smiled both at that and the familiar face standing on the other side, his eyes darting left and right, plastic bags labeled "Food Emporium" and "Acker, Merrall & Condit" in one hand.

"General Broyles," she waved him in, and he shook his head as he handed her the bags.

"Welcome to New York. And when we're off the clock, it's Phillip. After all we've been through, Olivia…" he didn't need to finish the thought.

She was in the kitchen by now, unpacking the bags as he took off his coat. She waggled the bottle of whisky at him.

"Liquor and cereal? I don't remember telling you about my single-girl dietary habits."

"You told Walter at some point. And he told me. He liked that it was practical but quirky. He called it very 'you'. How is Walter doing?"

"He was on shaky ground a little earlier. I called him once more as I was riding into town," she fished around the cabinets and pulled out two rock glasses and waggled them, too, then poured a decent amount in each when Broyles nodded. "But by the time we hung up he sounded… more collected. I wish one of us were there with him tonight. It's the first night he's been alone since…."

"Astrid told me Peter flew to California."

Olivia's eyes flew to his. He didn't say that Peter was technically AWOL by taking off with no word, but he didn't really have to. No one was going to hold either Peter or her to the reporting rules too tightly so soon after what they'd been through.

"He's not going to stop looking for her," Olivia leaned against the counter near the sink, watching Phillip pull out one of the stools around the kitchen table to sit. "Ever. It doesn't _matter_ that it's impossible, that he won't find her. He _can't_ stop looking. Or he'll crash and burn. And this will kill him."

He didn't answer right away. Olivia knew he realized it wasn't his ears she'd said it for.

"It's a stereotype," Phillip finally said after a pull at the whisky. "An old-school paradigm that when something terrible happens to a child it's the mother who retreats from the day to day world while the dad gets dressed and heads for the office every morning. You shouldn't kick yourself for not being a stereotype. Whatever life has thrown at you, Olivia, you've always…. kept on. And that's what you have to do, or _you'll_ crash and burn."

"We may be off the clock," Olivia topped off their drinks and Phillip didn't stop her. "But that sure sounded like a lecture from my boss. Or maybe a recruiting speech."

Phillip hadn't looked up from his glass, and she thought he seemed to be puzzling out how hard to drop the bomb in his pocket on her.

"You haven't heard any news or looked at your email in the last hour, have you?" He asked and went on slowly when she shook her head, smile fading. "A large contingent of Observers materialized in Paris in the middle of their night. Did the same thing they've done in Boston, D.C. and L.A.; disintegrated buildings, killed hundreds – maybe thousands of people, they're still not sure. There are scores missing there, now, too. But unlike those first attacks, this time the Observers seem to be staying, settling in. They've started ripping apart the Tuileries Gardens acre by acre, hauling in shipments of equipment, huge pipes for ductwork of some sort. Who the hell knows what they're up to, but for the first time they're not just attackers, Olivia. They're an occupying force. And they're occupying Paris."

She had pulled out a stool and sat, too, while he was talking.

"How do you fight an enemy who can materialize wherever they want to be instantly and retreat just as fast?"

"That's what we have to figure out," he said. "Among other things. And with D.C. locked down drum-tight, this is where the stand will be made. I need you two feet away, not two hundred miles. I need Walter and Peter, too. Any chance you can convince them?"

She'd abandoned her whisky glass but was twisting it around on the table now, thinking, her head shaking lightly.

"Not Walter. Not yet. I mean, I'll try but I know it'll be too much for him. And he's a pro at working from his lab, he'll do whatever we need and he won't let us down. Peter? I don't know if I can convince him to move here. That's the only honest answer I can give you: I don't know."

Phillip had told her to attempt to get some sleep, and he'd see her at work in the morning. He'd barely left when she remembered Peter's words on the phone a few hours ago.

_"You'll be there forever," Peter said. "By the next time we talk, he'll have convinced you to stay for as long as he needs you. Which is forever."_

She went to bed, and tried not to think about how she'd tell him. Or how she'd convince him to come to New York with her. How she'd convince him to stay.


	3. The Questions Unanswerable

Olivia's first full day in the city dawned sweet and crisp, the sky sapphire blue with zero clouds. She could smell mud in the park and freshly cut grass; a hint of warmer mornings to come as she cut from the West Side over to the east at Columbus Circle.

As she walked, she watched a father and his young daughter pass her by, marching with that fast, determined stride that screamed 'Manhattanite'. The girl was five, maybe; still young enough to hold a parent's hand rather than shake it off and demand to not be babied.

How long would Henrietta have held her hand that way, sweetly unselfconscious?

She tried to block The Questions but they weren't letting her deny them right now.

Did he appreciate it? The simple pleasure of walking his child across the park to school, to daycare? Did he know she could be gone tomorrow in a flash of white light and he would never know—is she well, hurting, happy, petrified? Dead or alive?

She shook herself and stepped up her pace before they could overwhelm her, leave her with that strangling feeling that felt like it might kill her those first few days.

She was close behind the father and daughter again and she focused on their conversation for distraction. The father had an expensive trench coat and the elegant, flowing accent marking him as Parisian. The girl wore a cute cloth coat that matched the sky today, tights and little black shoes. She had a non-descript, 'I'm from nowhere' accent except when she started asking her own questions - about her grandmother. Then, weakened by fear, she fell back into her baby roots a little.

"Will we see Mamere? Why can't she come here, please, to us? Will the men with the hats hurt her?"

Olivia heard him say soft, reassuring things back to her but his daughter wasn't having it. He scooped her up as she started crying, and Olivia saw how he pressed her to him, the helpless look on his face as she passed them again.

He glanced at Olivia with a silent question that needed no verbalizing – 'what are we supposed to tell them?'

She nodded her agreement and went on, but she thought about the two of them the rest of the way. They'd been hurt too, but they were still a family, still together. They needed someone fighting for them. How could Peter not _get _that?

She was half way up the steps to the office when her phone rang, and she paused outside the doors to take the call when she saw the number.

"Good morning, Walter. How are you doing?"

"Very well, thank you. I'm calling to find out of you can commandeer us a truck? One that can haul, oh, five or six tons of met… material?"

She'd been happy to hear 'very well,' it exceeded her hopes. His request set her back on her heels a little, though.

"Walter, why do you need such a big truck?"

"It's been a very eventful night. And morning," Walter said, "We've…. I've been all over the place. And back. I've situated some vital resources, put various things into motion, all of which combined might just save our collective _backsides_ if we're lucky."

Walter was talking to himself as much as to her now, and she could hear the clattering of his fingers on a keyboard. Astrid's keyboard, most likely. He was obviously in the throes of something that he had to write down _right this_ _very _second, but what? And why? Before he forgot? Before the Observers could render what he'd come up with ineffective?

She had a gut instinct that the more she pried the more he might clam up.

"Walter, is Astrid there?"

"No, no," he sounded vaguely annoyed that she'd passed right by his question. "She's on her way to Brookline."

"And why…"

"Because there's an electronics store in Brookline that still sells VHS tapes," his voice was winding its way up to agitation. He would be roaring soon if pushed. "And I _need_ VHS tapes. Many of them… as quickly as possible."

He'd reined himself in, had calmed down again of his own volition, and Olivia smiled. It seemed like a really good sign that he could do that - even on his own, with none of them there for support.

"I'm arriving at work now," Olivia said. "Whatever you need the truck for, Walter, I'll try to get it for you. I can't promise until I speak with Phillip, though."

"Of course," Walter said. "Oh, and Peter will be in touch soon. I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you, Olivia, but his latest tip came to nothing. So he's on his way to the airport to take an early flight home. Well, not home. To New York."

Olivia felt a burst of hope blooming. Peter was coming here, straight here.

"Do you need him, Walter? Should he head your way first?"

"No. I have a lot to do. I'd barely have time to talk with him if he did."

Olivia heard more clacking. That keyboard was getting a workout and she couldn't help wonder what he was writing.

"Astrid and I are at your disposal the second you have anything that needs our attention. All right, my dear?"

"That's better than all right, Walter. It's fantastic."

She heard his little harrumph at the soft happiness in her voice before she hung up. It was like a blanket around her shoulders as she headed inside to face the day.


	4. Never, Ever the Easy Way

**NYC FBI Offices**  
**2:30pm**

Olivia spent more than half of that first day in New York interviewing witnesses and tracking down leads in the east coast Observer attacks. Every inquiry and interview felt like pulling at a bandage that had begun to fuse with a deep wound.

It might have helped if they were unearthing answers, but they still had no idea why Boston, Brooklyn and Miami were hit? Why some buildings were vaporized while others went untouched? Why so many people died while others were, apparently, taken away.

"Did you get the email with the latest briefing notes?" Broyles waved her into the conference room, and Olivia nodded, took a seat. There were a lot of new faces. And clearly, they had walked in on a pissing match of some sort.

"Really? Seventy five years after the fact, Jordan, and you feel the need to make jokes about the French surrendering?"

Agent Lola Monroe. Known for not hesitating to call an ass an ass.

"Excuse me if I'm missing something," Her nemesis sneered. Agent Jordan Everett. He was no one she knew very well, but Olivia thought his voice screamed Harvard Man. "The city fell in a single night, did it not? They surrendered to bland, rote killers with apparent alacrity. Again."

"It could happen here." Agent Monroe snapped back. "And just as fast. Miami and Atlanta may not be occupied but they're under regular attack and we all know it's a rehearsal for whatever they've got planned for our side of the pond. So let's not pretend we're culturally immune from their fate, please."

"Can we focus?" Broyles didn't need to bark, his growl silenced the table. He waited a beat for the air to clear. "Update on the citizen self-defense groups?"

"They're growing. And coalescing," Olivia recognized a longtime NYC bureau agent at the other end of the table. "We have names; half a dozen people in six cities who are shaping up as potential movement leaders."

"Let's talk with them– and make sure not to alienate them, all right?" Broyles said. "We may need them soon. What's this about the people showing up wearing their symbols?"

"Not wearing them like clothes. Tattoos. On their faces, under one eye," Agent Monroe said and glared at Everett, daring him to say a single word. "We're told they're giving the marks to people who agree to be of service, to support their efforts in exchange for security. Normalcy."

Broyles nodded, digesting that, and the agent sitting to his right jumped in.

"The network of pipes – the ductwork they're building in Paris? It's filled several of the larger parks, now, and branches of it are starting to lead out of the city proper. We're still not sure what use it could have for moving data or material or…"

"It's for moving gas. Or liquids. Nothing else."

A voice at the conference room door said it authoritatively, and Olivia's head was up before anyone else's. Peter. He must have come straight from the airport.

"If it were a data network or a pneumatic tube of some sort, it'd be a hell of a lot more elegant than what they're building. I think they're planning to do the opposite of terra-forming."

"They're building a system to make the air less breathable? The water less drinkable?" Everett asked, and Olivia noted how he pretty much sneered at everybody. "What possible reason would they …"

"Have you seen one of them eat lunch?" Peter disarmed him with a grin and a shrug. "It's a condiment festival on a plate. We share the same ancestors, but they don't taste things the way we taste things, don't breathe air like ours. And if they're getting ready to push pollutants into our rivers and cities, preparing to make the place more comfortable for _them… _doesn't tell you what they've got in mind?"

The whole table went silent for a moment.

"Let's find out what they're connecting those pipes to. And get back to working our contacts," Broyles got up to go. "Find out what else we don't know yet, okay? Thanks, and see everyone back here, 5:00 pm."

Peter had stepped into the room to let the departing agents by, and Olivia let them all leave in front of her. She took advantage of the relative privacy of the conference room to stand very close to Peter, to loop her arms around his waist and set her face on his shoulder.

"Hi." She murmured against his neck.

It had only been two days since they'd seen each other. It felt like a year.

"Hi." Peter's arms were around her now, too, pulling her in tight, and for a half of a half a minute, the rest of the world and its increasingly impossible issues went away.

* * *

**Utopia Diner**  
**7:00pm**

By the time they met up for dinner they were both exhausted. In a way, it made things easier; neither of them was ready for anything like confrontation.

"I talked with Walter." Peter said and Olivia nodded, sipping her iced tea. "I know why he's in such decent, organized spirits. He has at least two projects going, keeping him _very_ pre-occupied even for him. He's being very cagy about one of them."

"The thing he needs the videotapes for?" Olivia asked and smiled at the way it made Peter grin and nod.

"Video tapes, parchment paper, and an extremely large truck. What in the world…."

"I got him the truck," Olivia said. "Phillip sent it his way this afternoon."

"That's great."

The waiter came and they put in their order, and when he left Olivia saw that Peter was struggling with how to tell her about the other half of whatever the hell Walter was up to.

"Broyles hasn't told you what Walter's calculating for him? Has he?" He went on when Olivia shook his head. "They're trying to figure out where the Observers are coming at us from. In time."

"As in… what year?" She looked at him like it made no sense, why would you bother to calculate? And then she sat back. "So you can, what? Jump into one of their shipping containers before it gets sucked back to home base? Go to New York in 2300 or 2400 and precipitate the end of their world? And you'll get away… get home to us in time to survive it how exactly?"

"If they're so desperate for what we've got, things must be very untenable for them. It might not take much," Peter looked at her and away fast, seeing the question forming in her eyes. "Not much to topple them. To destroy them."

"Peter, how can you even consider…."

"I'm suited for a mission like that. I've been through worse."

"I thought you were dead set on finding Henrietta. Is this the way to do that?"

"No, but… failing that. If I can't find her then… killing them… all of them… it'd come in second best, but it would be… satisfying."

"Don't. Even. Think about it," Olivia said and saw Peter's eyes shoot back to her, at the way she was putting her foot down. "I will_ not_ lose you both."

She was very glad the salads arrived when they did. It gave them both something else to focus on.

* * *

**Olivia's apartment**  
**West 57th**  
**10:00pm**

They may have been beat and stressed, but they were also wound and very consciously, lovingly at odds and somehow when they got to Olivia's not-so-temporary apartment it translated into a frenetic, explosive screw that left them both marked, bruised and close to de-boned.

Olivia had her head half on Peter's shoulder, half at the top of his chest and was drawing slow circles on his damp skin.

"If they find some way to go there," she said. "It can't be you. Tell me you'll put that idea aside. Now."

"Okay. But… I can't stay here. That's what I came to New York to tell you," Peter said. "I know you want me to stay and move on. I can't."

"So are we done?"

Olivia wasn't sure why the question should get the long, deep laugh it got out of Peter.

"After the last half hour, you can seriously ask if we're done?"

"It'd be easier," she said. "If I could tell myself we're broken for good."

"Absolutely," Peter said. "Sure it would. And I know all the things you've been through that make you want it cut and dried like that. But Olivia... are _you_ done? With me?"

"No."

"Yeah. That's kind of what I thought. And since when have we ever done anything the easy way?"

~~tbc~~


	5. Not Even for Us

Olivia woke up after dawn but before her alarm went off and found herself alone. She turned over slowly, running a hand over Peter's side of the bed; cool, smooth sheets, no indentations.

There was a faint trace of humidity still lingering in the shower before she turned the taps on. A few water drops on the wall, the soap soft and fragrant in her hands - the only signs he'd ever been there.

She checked the kitchen for a scrawled message. Checked her email. Nothing from Peter, but the AM briefing was waiting for her with word of more Observer incursions in the U.S. overnight and early this morning; Seattle, San Francisco, Denver. Quick hits- they were in and then out. Buildings destroyed, in one case an entire neighborhood. Hundreds dead. More missing.

"They're trying to tell us 'resistance is futile,'" she thought as she dressed. "They're trying to break us before they really come rolling in."

It was only as she was shutting the door that she realized Peter's suitcase was gone, too.

* * *

"I'm on the team bound for Denver," Agent Monroe was grabbing her coat, her bag as Olivia arrived at her desk. "If we find something- any clue that might relate to the East Coast attacks or the missing people, I'll be sure to let you know right away."

"Thank you," Olivia smiled at her and nodded, eyes dropping, vaguely embarrassed she didn't have it in her at the moment to be more effusive about it. "I would… Peter and I would both would really appreciate that."

Her fellow agents had been incredibly supportive, so many of them offering their help, their homes if they needed to travel in search of clues to Henrietta's disappearance. Olivia wasn't sure why it surprised her so, but it did. They'd lived in their own little bubble in Boston for the last few years and suddenly, in being ripped apart, they'd found a whole work world she'd forgotten existed.

"Oh," Agent Monroe waved toward the corner office as she headed for the door. "Peter's been in there with Broyles for a while now."

"Thanks," Olivia was glad for the warning, glad it wasn't a shock when the door opened minutes later and they walked out. Broyles caught her eye and headed in the other direction for the coffee room.

"You were so _out_, so peaceful," Peter pulled a chair over, sat at the side of her desk, elbows on knees and eyes on the floor. "I didn't want to bother you."

"You don't have to explain. I know we're not doing anything in lockstep right now. And we might not be for a while. I get it."

"The conference room is empty," Peter nodded over toward it. "And I need to talk with you."

"No, you don't. You're headed for Boston to see Walter, right? Just… go see him, make sure he's okay. We can talk later."

"I need to say some things. Now. Before I leave town."

She didn't mean to get up so abruptly, to push her chair back quite that hard and she saw his reaction, how Peter waited a few beats before following her across the room, stayed quiet for a few seconds after she sat at the foot of the long conference table and he sat inches away to her left

He didn't just have something to say. He had planned this. Was collecting his thoughts, trying to make sure they came out right.

"What you're doing it's not… it isn't the way to find her. Running in circles." Olivia jumped in first, said it as gently as possible, but she might as well have yelled it the way Peter flinched. "The way to find her is to figure them out. To destroy them. We beat _them _and we find _her._ If she's still alive to be found. That's the only way."

"I'm not judging you for sitting still," Peter said. "How about you not judge me because I can't."

"I am _not_ sitting still, I am _here_ and I am preparing for the fight of our _lives_, and…"

"This isn't what I wanted to talk with you about," Peter reached and took her hand, squeezed it hard enough to mean 'stop, please.' "I needed to tell you that I just quit. I'm not a civilian consultant any more. Phillip offered me a two-month leave, and I thanked him but I turned it down. I have no room for this, no room for anything but Henrietta."

"_Nothing but her_. No room for us?" Olivia asked, felt herself folding a little when he shook his head. "You are, Peter, you're leaving me. You said last night we're not done and you're _leaving_ me?"

"We're not done because we'll never really be done, not even if we never see each other again. But I can't be there for you- phoning and texting and flying in. And don't take this the wrong way but after what you just said, you can't be… you're _not _here for me. We have to face that we don't have each other's backs anymore. At all."

Olivia felt her elbows hit the table, her head go to her hands, felt tears flowing. She tried to remember the last time she'd really cried, then remembered - it was the night she had Henrietta.

"I'm so sorry, Olivia, I'm…" Peter tried to pull her toward him, and she pushed him slowly away with the back of an arm.

"Don't you think…" she collected herself, sat up and wiped her eyes, looked anywhere but right at him. "You should maybe get up and _go_? Before one of us says something we can't take back?"

To her immense sorrow – and to her surprise- he did just that; walked out of the conference room and straight out the office. The last thing she saw was his arm, his hand on the knob.

She watched their life together literally end with a door closing. Then, somehow, she got up and went to her desk and lined up three interviews with witnesses before the morning staff meeting.

* * *

Olivia worked until after 9:00 p.m. and then stood at the foot of her apartment building, looking up and realizing liquor and cereal wouldn't cut it tonight. It's how she ended up in the diner, eyes firmly down, blowing on a bowl of very hot soup as someone slid into the seat across from her in her booth.

She caught a glimpse of pinstripes and half expected it to be Phillip. Instead her eyes met grey: Grey suit, grey hat, blanched, grey/white skin, and those cold, dead, reptilian eyes.

"What's your name?" She asked, and enjoyed the way the question made him tip his head, made him blink blankly. "You do have one, don't you? Or should I just call you 'Borg'?"

"My name is irrelevant," he said. "This is to be our only meeting and my purpose is simply to convey information. And an invitation."

"Do you know who I am? That my daughter is missing? Do you know where she is?"

"If I did know, I would not be empowered to say. But since I truly do not, I can tell you so without censure. There's the distinct possibility that my superiors do not know, either, or I might have some inkling of it. Have you considered that it's possible your daughter was simply a victim of circumstance? Collateral damage?"

It was all she could do not to fling the soup in his face.

"I've been asked to let you know that we are willing to work with those who will work with us."

"Your 'loyalists'?" Olivia ate her soup, enjoyed the little fission of annoyance she sensed in him at her going on with her meal. "You have no bargaining chip, nothing to 'give' me about my child's disappearance…. Why would I _ever_…"

"Because we will win. There is no other possible outcome. And we don't want to decimate your planet's population – it offers us no distinct advantage and may actually prove disadvantageous. The assistance of people like you could be all that stands between your species' survival, and Homo Sapien bones in a case in the Natural History Museum being all that's left of you. Right next to the Neanderthals and Australopithecus."

"At least we'll die human," Olivia gave him a slow smile. "And wow, that sounded like an awfully personal, spiteful approach to take, Borg. For someone who's just conveying an invitation. Are you _sure_ you're sure you'll win?"

He'd gotten up and left, and Olivia surprised herself for the second time that day by finishing her meal, paying, and walking back to work.

She caught sight of Phillip in his office as she hung up her coat and went to stand in his doorway.

"I expect the regular, twenty hour days will start soon enough, Olivia. Sure you don't want to go get some sleep?"

"I'll sleep tomorrow. I know I won't sleep tonight," she said, took a seat as he waved her in and handed her a folder.

"I have some things for you to take a look at.

"Sure." Olivia said. "I have quite a conversation to tell you about."

~~~ tbc ~~~


	6. Peter at the Lab with Coffees

It was early the next morning when he got to the lab, so Peter picked up coffee on the way in. He slid one of the three cups, the one with milk and extra sugar, next to Walter's hand and smiled as he watched Walter take it and drink without ever once looking away from his computer screen.

"I don't _dare_ ask what's coalescing inside that head, dad?"

Walter jumped microscopically, smiling at him with a tilt of his head and sipping again.

"Good morning, son. How long have you been here?"

"About ten seconds. Got in to Logan late last night. Why are you here so early?"

"We're moving in," Walter's eyes went back to the screen as he nodded toward the far wall. Peter saw movement in Walter's office – an arm, a piece of fabric waving, followed by tapping sounds of hammer on nail.

"You're going to live in the lab?"

"Yes, the better to be at Olivia's virtual fingertips when she needs us. It's either that or pack for New York, which I … can't do. Ingrid!" Walter shouted, setting down the coffee as Astrid popped her head out of the doorway. "Peter's here. Come join us so we can reconnoiter."

"I'd be out there _already_ if you'd helped me with these ...drapes." Astrid said, leaving the 'damned' out. "Which, by the way, weren't even my idea, were they, Walter?"

"It's not 1939 and a motor car accident has not left us stranded in a cabin in the woods," Walter barked, voice rising. "We have department stores and _they_ stock niceties, and if I'm going to _ask_ you to live here with me then you will have a decent place to lay your head and some amount of privacy. Chivalry is _not_ dead!"

"Yeah, well maybe chivalry can come help me with these fussy curtain rods before I pinch my fingers a third time."

She flipped the door shut and Walter watched it slam, chuckling.

"Can I tell you a secret, son? It's been a year since I've actually forgotten her name."

Peter sat with an elbow on the table and chin in hand and slowly shook his head.

"I do it because she'll miss it if I stop," Walter answered the unspoken question. "And, to be honest, I'm afraid she'll stop doting on me. And _I'd_ miss that. A lot."

"You're a conundrum, dad." Peter pulled the lid off of his coffee and drank, and fixed a look on him that asked another unspoken question.

"I'm sorry," Walter said. "I have bad news. I finished modeling the possibilities for utilizing those Observer shipping containers as a tool against them and it's not going to work. There's no way we can travel in them to their Earth, their time."

"Why not?" Peter looked for any sign on Walter's face that suggested fudging, but he looked one hundred percent sorry to have to tell him.

"They encrypt every molecule inside the containers with a fiendishly complicated code." The frustration on Walter's face made Peter fully relax, convinced. "Astrid and I are working hard to crack it, but every simulation we run…

"What happens to improperly encrypted cargo?" Peter asked. "Like a stowaway?"

"I'd equate it to a malfunctioning transporter room," Walter flinched. "Body parts in the wrong places on the other end."

"So is it impossible for _now_? Or forever?" Peter asked and for the first time Walter looked like he didn't really want to answer.

"Nothing is impossible forever. Maybe down the road, we might, but…not this week or this month or even this year."

"Funny how every outlandish technology can be explained through Star Trek, isn't it?" Peter had clearly asked it to break the mood, and Walter smiled softly, grateful. "You really have to wonder if someone on that show wasn't a time traveler?"

"Please…" Walter said, fingers back on the keyboard, eyes on the screen. "You don't think Roddenberry was who he seemed, do you? That franchise has nothing to do with space travel. It's all about helping society adapt to the accelerating rate of technological development.

Peter stared at him for the longest time, trying to tell from the amused half smile still on his lips if Walter was kidding or dead serious, but he was re-absorbed in his task.

"I'm going to go check in with Astrid," Peter ran a hand over Walter's shoulder as he went. "And fill her in on the latest, okay?"

* * *

Walter waited a minute before he picked up his phone and called Olivia.

"He believed me," he said the moment he heard her hello. "I told him we haven't beat the code… and he believes me."

"I know this is hard," Olivia's voice was calming, patient. "But it's for a reason. We can't let him be the guinea pig for this, Walter. You _do_ believe it's a fool's errand, still, don't you? The whole idea of trying to go beat them on their turf?"

"Yes," Walter nodded, as if she could see the certainty in the gesture through their phones. "There are too many variables. And the margin for error is absurd. The only way we win is with Occam's Razor: The simplest solution. What that is, I'm only sixty percent sure at this point."

"Then we're doing him a favor. We _can't _lose them both, can we?"

"No, my dear. I certainly can't. But I also don't want to be in the room if Peter ever finds out we've lied to him."

"Put it all on me," Olivia said. "If that happens… it's on me."

"Let's not worry about it now," Walter said. "We have bigger problems to talk about."

* * *

"What _are _you working on, Walter?" Peter asked.

The three of them were in the lab, now, Astrid on the computer, Peter and Walter sitting a few feet away and catching up with each other before Peter left for parts unknown in his search for his daughter.

"An escape plan," Walter said, doodling in a notebook. Peter watched over his shoulder, eyes following the swoop and curve of his father's pen hand. He knew those random doodles could look deceptively simple. "I have some thoughts on an 'out' for the human race if the Observers win round one."

"Do you think they will?" Peter asked, and felt a chill when Walter nodded.

"I called Olivia to warn her; I think the random attacks they've been launching are over. In a matter of weeks or even days it won't just be Paris they're occupying, it'll be London, L.A., Sao Palo, Beijing…"

"New York?" Peter asked.

"Yes, New York. And not random strikes – this time it'll be for good."

"Why are you so sure?"

"September has some inkling," Walter said, and then shrugged when Peter stared. "His status among his people may be in danger. His assistance to us has put him in a bad position, but still he hears things. It's not your problem right now, is it, son? Olivia told me you quit.

"Not quitting, Walter. Just focusing on Henrietta. I _know_ you can understand."

"Yes," Walter said. "I do. And frankly, I've wondered…."

"Wondered what?" Peter asked, a hand going to Walter's pen hand to stop it.

"If your experience, if what you've been through - has it, maybe, enhanced your understanding of why I've done what I've done?

"Yes," Peter pulled his chair closer, pulled Walter in, and he heard Astrid's heels tapping away from them fast, headed for her 'room' as he hugged his father. "I'd accepted it already. Fully. But now, losing her and wanting her back like oxygen? I get it."

"This is why I bought the drapes," Walter sank into the embrace. "Can I please get some credit for knowing those were a good idea?"

* * *

** Nineteen Hours Later**

Olivia was very _out _when her phone rang. She gazed at the readout, and curled up under the blankets, sighing as she answered.

"What's up?"

"I need your help."

The starkness of the request and the chill in his voice were like a blast of cold water. Olivia went from a warm ball of sleep to sitting up and wide-awake.

"There's something in New York I need," she heard him say. "Now."

"Okay, so I'll have a courier….

"No!" Walter snapped, and Olivia could picture him willing himself to calm down, to rein it in. "It's too important, it can't be a courier. It has to be you. And Olivia… there's no time to spare. They're coming."


	7. The Purge

**Four weeks later**  
**Battery Park City Cafe ~ Manhattan**

"The view may be what I'll miss most," Nina set down her lunch menu, looking out at New York Harbor.

Olivia nodded, containing her admiration. Nina's ability to take bad times in stride was very much the norm. But _this_? Her powerful company forced to move from Manhattan, to cross the East River and leave behind decades of 'the way we do things?' It had to be about the worst thing she'd faced in, well, exactly thirty years.

"I hate to tempt fate by asking," Olivia fiddled with her silverware, kicked at some leaves that had gathered under their table on patio. "But why do you suppose the Observers are letting you carry on at all? I'd expect them to see Massive Dynamic as a serious threat."

"Oh, everyone sees us as a threat." Nina said it very matter of fact, then leaned in with eyes glittering. "I think they only have a certain amount of bandwidth. Am I right? You would know as well as I, my dear, at least I certainly hope so. Plus, I think they really believe they can co-opt anything we develop. As if we aren't encrypting, booby-trapping and otherwise securing every key and pen stroke we make."

It had only been twelve days since the Observers started showing up in larger numbers, and already New York felt occupied. There were checkpoints manned by uniformly cold, thin, grey men who answered not to Albany or Washington but to… who knew?

There were rules to follow, too; dozens of them. Most of them aimed at shutting off access to the city.

And there were the loyalists. Olivia had taken to counting how many of them she would see, the glyphs tattooed on their cheekbones jarring every single time; one of them, and then four of them, or forty-two; first that many in a day and then that many in a morning. Algebraic growth.

"Have you noticed how the Loyalist women dress?" Olivia asked.

"Yes. It's very nineteen thirty-three." Nina sipped at her water. "I have mixed feelings about it. The reason is … disgusting. Lemming-like. But, I'll admit it's nice to see such finely designed clothes again, and thick materials – wool, cashmere. We've really had miserable clothes for decades now and no one much younger than me knows any better."

Nina's gaze drifted, then snapped back to Olivia.

"How are you doing, Olivia? You haven't said more than 'fine' and I'm not convinced."

"I really _am_ fine. I work eighteen hours a day and sleep five. It's … familiar. Structured. And structure is good right now."

"How are Astrid and Walter?"

"Great," Olivia said, her voice rising – not with false cheer but because it seemed to be very much the truth. "Walter has at least two projects going strong. Phillip and I are on the phone or the computer with him almost as much as we talk with each other. He does have me running, though. Running errands for him."

"Like around town?"

"Like back to the lab. About every ten to twelve days he calls with something he needs urgently, and only I can be trusted to bring it to him. As if things aren't crazy enough here."

"You do appreciate what that's about?" Nina asked with a sly smile. "He may be doing well, but Walter needs his support system. And if he can't have Peter around he'll drag you home, instead."

"It's okay," Olivia nodded fast when Nina faltered, her face saying she was sorry she'd been so blunt. "You're right. And whenever I start to get annoyed with him I remind myself this man, this… maddening, brilliant, _deeply _sentimental man sat all alone in a small room for seventeen years. And then I get in a car and I drive north."

Some people might have said 'good for you' or 'it'll be okay' but Nina just took Olivia's hand in her hand and squeezed. And for that honest reassurance without promises, Olivia was very grateful.

**Eight days later**  
**FBI HQ ~ New York**

Broyles was leading the evening catch-up meeting in the conference room when it started: An inkling of trouble that blossomed into a nightmare and was referred to from that night forward as the Purge.

"Enact the protocol," he'd said simply as they watched the cameras; hundreds, then thousands of Observers – uniformed and pinstriped alike – pouring into London, Beijing, Sao Palo, Canberra, Berlin, Copenhagen, Seoul, Amsterdam, Riyadh… every capital city except for Washington, D.C.

Olivia thought it was just their luck that even these grimly determined monsters weren't taking on the one place locked down like a militarized brick. The Observers were pouring into New York, instead.

Broyles' order had everyone in the room scrambling; on phones, laptops, tablets. Their fingers flew, sending agents into hiding, toward satellite offices, or straight into the fray. And even though they knew instinctively they were ants fighting an elephant, their voices gabbling into their comms, they kept at it anyway - a great last gasp at trying to help save the world.

Olivia was so preoccupied she didn't see her personal phone jumping on the conference table for the longest time. When she finally did, she snatched it up and walked out of the conference room.

"Peter?"

"Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?"

"Yeah." Olivia stood with the phone to her ear and the fingertips of her other hand on her forehead. Hearing his voice in the middle of this... it was too much.

"I wanted to tell you. In case this is it, I want to say I'm sor…"

"You have nothing to apologize for," Olivia cut him off. "Nothing you need to say that we can't talk about later. But I do. We lied to you. Walter and I, when we told you that the shipping containers weren't an option, that taking them to their timeline was uniformly deadly, that wasn't true."

There was a minute pause, a silence bridging the point where she couldn't go on and where Peter had finished processing it.

"It's irrelevant now," he said, finally, and Olivia felt herself breathe again. "It was an enormous long shot. And we wouldn't have had time to try it anyway, would we?"

"Where are you?"

"Moscow. They might have sent some of the missing from the various attacks, both kids and adults, to parts of the former republics. Maybe Irkutsk…."

He stopped, and Olivia realized it was because he heard her gasping, on the brink of sobbing into the phone.

"I'm sorry," She heard him say. "You can't deal with this right now, I know. You probably shouldn't even have taken my call. I just had to, in case, I had to say…"

"I love you, too." Olivia said and heard his intake of breath on the other side.

"Go… do what you have to do. We'll talk when this insanity dies down, okay?"

The phone was in her pocket and Olivia was in the conference room and on task in a second flat.

'Hopeless situations,' she thought. 'I should be used to them. And I never am.'

**Eight hours later**  
**FBI HQ ~ New York**

Her phone was wedged under her waist when it rang next, Olivia heavily 'out' on the sofa in the larger of the two FBI dining lounges. The time for going home to sleep had passed.

"Hello?" She was barely awake as she pulled it to her ear.

"This is the boy who cried wolf."

"I'm not … please… hold on, wait a sec…"

"I know I've imposed, I've dragged you back here for my peace of mind again and again, Olivia, but I assure you I'm cognizant enough of the situation not to ask this unless it were the direst of…"

"The Observers just occupied Manhattan. There's now _way_ I can leave town undetected right now."

"You can. And you must. I've needed a specific piece of equipment for two days and I've put it off, asking, because of my prior unreasonable demands. But if you don't do this our last, best hope for beating them dies."

He could be the neediest being in the entire world, but Olivia heard something in his voice that said he wasn't playing.

"What piece of equipment, Walter?"

"It's a Transilience unit. Semi-triangular. Looks like a gaming handset. I have someone bringing it to Grand Central Station. You have to go there, and meet him by the clock at the information booth. Now. Please…"

Olivia scrounged up her backpack and jacket, heading for the door.

"Okay, I'm …on my way. I'll call you when I have it."

His deep sigh of relief was Walter's 'thank you'.


	8. The Blizzard

Olivia hadn't been this thoroughly on her own in … years.

She shivered, and zipped her jacket tighter against the damp spring night, the air both chilly and saturated – so misty out it was just short of raining. Her hands grazed over herself, taking a silent inventory: her gun tucked neatly at her hip, the transilience handset folded and buried deep in her left coat pocket, her phone in her other pocket lying flat against the square box that was her absolute last resort.

Both the gun and the small, square box had their safeties set to 'on'.

Getting the unimpressive-looking, triangular bit of tech to Walter was going to be even trickier than she'd feared, and she had not lowballed the risks at all. Just picking it up from Walter's contact at Grand Central had been like spy ballet: walking through the Great Hall at the agreed on time, circling the clock at the info booth twice, a quick nod of their heads and subtly outstretched hands and…. it felt so average, so light, just a simple hunk of plastic.

Still, it was the only thing, in Walter's mind, keeping hope for their future alive. And as scary as it was to admit - she'd learned to trust Walter's mind. His gut.

Her phone rang and she pressed her comm to answer.

"Where are you?" She heard him say, and she smiled.

"Walking, Walter. I didn't dare take a train out of town. I'm headed for the auto rental kiosk on 76th. I'll use a fake ID and pray it holds. I'll drive over the GWB and let you know when I'm safely out of town."

They had nearly every way in and out of the city locked down and monitored, but the Observers were doing a seriously crappy job with the bridges. Broyles had pointed out that it was partly because they needed some form of transport running smoothly for their own purposes. And, she thought, maybe bridges were just plain too high volume to deal with properly, and too low tech for them to really 'get'. Whatever the reasons, it felt like her best bet.

"I wish you'd taken the subway, my dear. That's a thirty minute walk, easily…"

"Listen, I know it's hard to envision from where you're sitting…" she turned a full circle without breaking stride. "But the transport hubs, Walter, they're swarming with them and with their nasty little moles. This is better."

"Can you tell me, Olivia, what state is the transilience unit in?"

"What state? What do you mean?"

"There are four tiny indicator lights," Walter spoke slowly, his attempt at being patient but she could hear the strain in his voice. "All on the underside of it: Blue, green, yellow, red. Which, if any, are lit?"

She pulled it just far enough from her jacket to see and did another circle as she walked. The streets here on the west side weren't nearly as packed as midtown – reassuring in one way, more frightening in another.

"The blue light is on, Walter. And the green. The other two are dark."

"Oh, that's wonderful, that's… very good. The blue is data, it's... the key to unscrambling our plan when we need it. And the green… well, I won't bore you with the details you can't use at this moment, but just get yourself to a vehicle and get the hell out of Gotham. And call me?"

"Yes," Olivia had the phone back in her pocket as Columbus Circle disappeared behind her, the streets getting darker with every step.

She glanced to her right and saw the wall they'd built around the park – 800 acres of green, the city's living lungs now surrounded by cement with huge metal pipework springing up the way dandelions used to. It hadn't taken long for graffiti to sprout all over the walls, either. It looked like a nightmare, which is, Olivia thought, exactly what this was.

She picked up her pace, burying the gloomy thought, determined to keep an upbeat mind in hopes of it helping her get out of town.

And then, just like that, it was all over.

"Excuse me," a soft, languid voice said, right on her heels where no one had been a mere second before. "A moment of your time, Ms. Dunham?"

She spun and locked eyes with September's look-alike – not him, though, for sure. There was nothing warm in those eyes, nothing desiring connection or communication. This one? He was reptile to the core.

She cut a hard left toward the Time Warner Center, bolting into the street as the light changed, cars charged their way.

It put distance between them.

Olivia pressed her earpiece, pulled her phone out.

"Walter," she noted how he didn't say hello, how quickly he'd gauged that her calling back so fast was not good news. "If they stop me… if they take me should I destroy it?"

"No!"

Okay, so no confusion there.

"Please, Olivia, without that device everything I've set up… it could all be in their hands in an instant. All of our work will be… for nothing."

"Understood."

She was running hard now, headed due west. If she could get to the river, the bike path, the streets and the tunnels and the tennis courts dotting the west side – so many dark places to dodge them. Just three blocks.

"Please, my dear… run."

She would have laughed if she had the lung capacity to spare.

"Believe me… I … so… am…."

And just like that she stopped, nearly fell because her rate of deceleration.

The monster behind her was being joined by monsters to her front, the left, and on all four diagonals and Olivia stood her ground, her hand reaching for the small, square box and releasing the safety.

"It's in my pocket. If you find me, Walter, the device, it's…"

"Oh, _please_, Olivia," she heard him whisper and then trail off, and that was hard, hearing his fear for her.

They were thirty yards off. She had, maybe, twenty seconds to herself and a question she'd been meaning to ask about the Ambering device burning into her brain; a question prompted by a memory of a conversation with a man who'd spent years in Amber and told her he remembered every second of it.

"Will I be conscious? Walter… will I feel it?" She waited, and got only silence. "_Answer_ me."

"I don't know. We've made… improvements. I hope not. Are you sure there's no way? Can you not _try_?"

"I'm sorry. There's... no. This… is over. They've probably been following me since the terminal, Walter. They're…" she watched three more of them appear, the circle closing. "They're everywhere."

"Don't you dare apologize._ I'm_ sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Tell Peter," she pulled the Ambering device from her pocket, holding it straight out and twisting the dial, turning in a cirle. "Tell him I'm thinking of you both. And our girl. And I love you all… so much."

"Oh, Olive," she heard Walter say, before she cut the connection.

She expected to be enveloped immediately, was stunned when it worked exactly the opposite of what she expected: A wall of orange sprang up between her and them, yards away from her, building in thick, gelatinous layers and flying her way as she spun faster.

She had a little time to enjoy the flickers of annoyance on their faces as it grew. She only wished she had longer, because damn that felt _so_ good, watching them lose.

And then it was closing in, and she wondered if she'd breathe it, if it would hurt, or be like drowning, like dying, if she'd, God, no please don't let every second pass in real time, please, no, _shit_, Walter, what… what the hell? How could you not know how this works….

It felt like metallic silk when it enveloped her, and she started to hold her breath but found she didn't need to: The Amber was holding it for her. Was holding _her,_ solidifying, tightening. It was like being a hand in soft, tight glove.

She was glad she'd closed her eyes.

It didn't hurt. It… what? She wanted to move, to take a long, deep breath but ….oh, _fuck_. Neither of those was happening.

She felt sleepy. Drugged. Felt her heart pounding. This couldn't go on forev…

She remembered a day; Peter at their bedroom window. Etta a week old in her arms, lying against her thighs as Olivia sat, back against the headboard.

"It's a blizzard out there," he'd turned from the window, letting the blinds fall, smiling.

"We'll stay here, then," she'd said. "All weekend. Until it passes."

It had been … _perfect_. The three of them. Nothing else. _Nothing_.. in the.._wor_…..bu…

* * *

"Walter?" Peter took the call, even though he was supposed to be boarding a plane any second.

"No, it's Astrid," he heard her say, heard Walter ranting in the background, railing so loudly, clearly furious at God and man and everyone else and that much anger out of him? Peter started pacing, a hand going over his head.

"Peter, where are you? You have to come meet us. Come to New York. We're packing and heading for the car right now."

"New York? Walter … is _willingly_ going to…." He stopped. "Olivia?"

"They came after her. She Ambered herself to protect the tech she was trying to bring to us. She's somewhere on the west side, if the trace I just ran on her last phone call is right."

"Why was she…what in the hell was she bringing to him?"

"Does it matter?" Astrid's voice was tight and Walter was still ranting in the background, and Peter blinked back tears for her, for Walter and Olivia.

"I'm in Atlanta. I'll go look up a flight to JFK. Call Nina before you leave, okay?" he picked up his carry on bag and headed for the main terminal. We're going to need her… gonna need tools and help if there's any shot of getting her free of it without them catching us, too."

"Got it."

"Astrid," Peter was half running. "Is he….okay? Can you handle Walter?"

"I have to, don't I?" she said, her voice edgy and then softening, relenting a little. "It's not as bad as it sounds. He's mostly furious with himself. For what just happened to her."

"Tell him we'll get her. Okay? Tell him we have to fix this… so we will."

"Yeah," Astrid said. "Call us when you land."

~~tbc~~


	9. Trouble

Peter stood in the cab line outside Terminal Five with his phone to his ear, swearing softly.

"Cmon, c'mon… answer, damn it. Where are you?"

He'd been trying to get Walter and Astrid since the plane wheels touched the tarmac.

It only hit him now why his calls were going to voice mail every time: Astrid was most definitely driving, her hands very full with focusing on the road and keeping Walter calm. Walter being of his generation? Yeah. Genius though he was, he had his phone off. To conserve the battery.

It didn't matter, Peter told himself as he slid in to the next available cab. They were close behind him, based on driving miles from Boston to New York and his flight time from Atlanta with a wait.

They'd be together soon.

"Seven World Trade," he told the driver; the street address of Massive Dynamic, clearly where they would need to start.

He sat back and let his hand with the phone drop, looking out the window. He'd been busy on the plane, blessedly – thinking through their next moves, surrounded by scores of other people, busy with the familiar routines of flight. Now it was just him alone in the dark, the cab pulling away from the airport.

He wondered for the million and tenth time if Etta was hurting. He pictured Olivia encased in amber. He wasn't sure why, but he was fixated on whether her eyes were opened or closed. He pictured her staring, tall, shoulders back. Unafraid.

He felt his eyes stinging, his throat tightening right as the car hit the highway. He was glad for every jostle and thump as the driver veered and sped and almost torpedoed toward Manhattan. The bumps pulled him into the moment, kept the images of the very worst that might possibly be at bay.

He couldn't give in. There was still time. They could get her out.

This wasn't over.

* * *

"Nina? Where are you?"

The skyline was in sight when his phone rang, the Empire State Building lit up in blue and red and yellow.

The call wasn't clear – was full of static, breakup.

"… in … D.C…." he heard her say. "Negotiating with… to keep Massive….open. Can you hear me?"

"Barely, but yes. Go on. Have you spoken with them?"

"Yes. And I've sent help. William….is on….way."

She couldn't have said what he thought she….

"Did you get that, Peter?"

Now he could hear every syllable as if she were sitting next to him.

"I said William Bell is on the way to help you navigate the basement, get you the tools you need to break through the amber. Walter's pretty sure he knows where Olivia was when…"

"William Bell is …."

"Alive, yes. Obviously." Nina could still command a room, even over a cell connection. She had to know how much Peter hated him, would like to strangle him for what he had done. "And you need him. So let's get through this, okay?"

"Where has he been, Nina?"

"It doesn't matter," she snapped. Then there was silence and she appeared to have been rethinking her approach because her voice wasn't as hard when she continued. "Peter, it's very risky saying anything this way but to be as succinct as possible… he's been quietly helping Walter with his plan. And he's got… them thinking he's assisting them."

William Bell, double agent. Less than shocking. Perfect sense, actually. That is, if he were sane now. Peter opened his mouth to ask and shut it again. Nina and Walter must have determined he was, or they wouldn't be having this conversation at all.

"How's Walter?" Peter asked. "How did he sound when you spoke with him?"

"He was coming down from an epic rant," Nina said. "He ambered the lab before they left, he and Astrid. He's armed to the teeth with ambering devices, like some Wild West gunslinger. Peter, he was… he was on the phone with Olivia when it happened."

He knew that already, but even as stressed and hurting as he was, Peter felt the full pain of it again. Walter, for all his hardness, his obtuseness … having to listen to her voice while…. Shit.

"The three of you will get to her faster and get away more effectively with William's help," Nina said, her voice clearly a plea for Peter not to take him out at first sight.

"Yeah," Peter said. "I get it. I'll keep you posted, okay? And Nina… thank you."

* * *

"Nina specifically said the gear we need is in the first basement. Directly below the ground floor."

Astrid was glancing between Walter and William Bell and the staircase to their left that, as far as she could tell, would get them right where they needed to be.

"It's been months since Nina has had time to come down here," Bell said, hands clasped behind his back and eyes fixed on the elevator doors, waiting for the car to arrive. "It's been substantially longer since you've been here Walter. Trust me. It's why I was sent, the only reason I'm tagging along at all…"

He glanced at Walter and saw him vacillating, worried eyes aimed at Astrid in apology.

"Belly's right, he's… practically been living here…" Walter trailed off and Bell nodded.

"Which would you prefer, Astrid?" Bell asked. "That when Peter joins us we are packed up and ready to go look for Olivia or still reconnoitering for the tools we need?"

"Of course," Astrid relaxed, ran an arm over Walter's back. "I'm just jumpy."

"As are we all, my dear," Walter said.

They were silent as the elevator opened, as the floors sped by while they sank to the sub-sub-sub-basement.

"Olivia had a question I couldn't answer…" Walter finally said, almost as much to himself as to Bell. "She wanted to know if she would feel each second in the Amber. I know… I think that's been improved. Do you…"

"It has. She won't." William said with a slight shake of his head. "It'll be as if she's waking from a nap. There's not much I can promise you, my friend. But that much? I can."

"Good," Walter was nodding fast, eyes on the floor. "I'm ….most happy to hear that."

* * *

They were fastening backpacks when Peter found them: Walter, Bell and Astrid pulling the ties tight, throwing them over their shoulders, getting ready to leave the storage room behind.

He watched them, counting down from a hundred in his head, feeling his blood pressure rising. He was fighting his instincts, his deep-seated desire to walk over and break Bell's neck.

He was old. It would be so easy.

"Son!" Walter had seen him and was there in a flash, arms going around him. He felt the twin sensations of being comforted and needed and he wanted nothing more than to sink into that.

It was his third reminder in an hour of what mattered. And if Bell could help them….

Still. No.

Peter pushed Walter away gently and went for Bell, changing course as Bell tried to dodge him, grabbing him by the front of his throat and landing a punch in his gut, what there was of it.

Bell crumpled, dropping his pack as he hit the floor.

"Peter!" Walter shouted it, Astrid gasping behind him.

"Not sorry," Peter said, to Walter not Bell. "I'm out of forgiveness. And that was nothing. You have no idea what I want to…."

Bell was still out flat, barely moving toward lifting up on his elbows when it started: ear-splitting sirens, thin white strobe lights flashing, spinning, making it hard to focus on anything.

"What is that?" Peter went to Bell and dragged him up to sitting. "You're the expert, so what the hell is…."

"The building," Bell could only get one word out at a time. "It's going…into lockdown. They must know we're here. They've seen us. Closed circuit TV most likely."

"Awesome," Peter took Walter's backpack from him and pushed Bell up to standing. "Let's go kill a few of them on the way out of here, huh?"

"Peter," Walter murmured as they headed for the door. "He's on our side, he's…."

"Is he?" Peter asked. "Exactly how sure are you, dad?"

They bolted for the stairs rather than the elevator on instinct, sirens screaming as they went.

Peter let Walter take the front, and he put an arm around Astrid as they brought up the rear.

There were a dozen floors between them and the street, sixty or seventy blocks more to Olivia. Peter didn't like the numbers at all. And he couldn't help feeling Bell was the mathematician to blame.


	10. History is Written by the Victors

"I want to know where you've been all this time..."

Peter gave Bell a slight push as he followed him down the corridor. Not enough to knock him flat, as much as he'd like to. Enough to make his point; he was going to get an answer.

"Your father knows. Is that not enough for you?"

They were covering ground at a half-trot, not fast enough for Peter's taste but as quickly as was practical with two men Bell's age walking between him and Astrid.

"My father has entirely too much trust when it comes to you. Even after... the _insanity_ of what you tried to do, how you abused Olivia's abilities, he still trusts you enough to let you help him. Nina's no better, no insult intended. They both love you too much to see the truth: You're abusing all of us, our trust yet again. So no, it's not enough."

"That's the problem with you Bishops," Bell said, and Peter noticed the alarmed look on Walter's face, how he turned to look back at Bell at those words. "You never see the big picture. Never can look past your own agendas... your ... feelings. Each other. It is the only thing that kept you from historic greatness, Walter. From immortality."

"Stop it, now…" Walter didn't break stride. "And Peter, you too! Belly has made amends for what he did. He has been ... more than helpful arranging the pieces we'll need in place to defeat them. There is no way he would ever..."

"We're going nowhere," Astrid stopped so fast Walter nearly ran her over. Peter noticed how Bell had stopped steps before that happened, how he'd seemed to anticipate it. "This corridor ... it only leads off to more storage rooms. It's a dead end."

They could all see it now, twenty yards or so ahead: A cement wall and nothing more.

Peter heard a faint noise behind them; feet. Distant but headed their way. He felt no need to turn around to see who was coming. "You've been helping Walter to help yourself. Telling them every single thing we're up to, haven't you?"

"Not every thing," Bell lifted his chin as if preparing for the punch he thought was coming. "While I don't let them rule me as you do, I'm not without a heart. Or sentiment. I've shared as much as I had to in order to win the Observers' trust. History is written by the victors, Peter, and they will win. When they do… I need a place at the table."

"_No,_" Walter murmured.

Peter heard the sorrow in Walter's voice in that one word, and wished for him that he'd been wrong.

"Are you the reason Olivia's in Amber?" Peter asked.

"I'm afraid so," Bell said. "I tried to avoid sharing that bit of info with them; her bringing Walter the transillience unit. But in the end it was too valuable a card not to play. She was... collateral damage, I'm afraid."

The footsteps were a lot closer now.

"I'm sorry, my dear," Peter heard Walter say to Astrid. She was shaking her head, reassuring him.

"It's fine, Walter. I'm fine. Don't worry about me, okay?"

Peter looked to see what Walter was fumbling for in his pocket and spotted the Ambering device at the same moment Bell made a run for the hallway behind them, toward the Observers. They could see them now, seconds away.

"Oh, no you don't..." Peter caught Bell and tossed him against the wall, pushed him back one heaving, gasping step at a time past Astrid, near the very back of the enclosure he'd trapped them all in. "No way. "

"You may be doing me a favor, " Bell said, when he could. "If we're here long enough... maybe I'll see a future I would never have lived to experience."

"Not if someone digs me out first, you won't." Peter said, eyes going to Walter, nodding to dispel the fear and regret on his face. "It's okay, dad. This is not on you. We have no choice."

"Let's hope we emerge to a brighter future," Walter pressed the buttons in sequence, and the Ambering gas shot out yards ahead of them, in perfect time to send the Observers falling backward, running away.. "And … perhaps to the sight of our Olivia breaking us out of this prison."

Peter nodded, tried to smile. He could see the Ambering gas turning solid, the unsettling wall of gold gel flying at them. He couldn't bring himself to stare at it head on, turned instead to give Astrid a wink, saw her smile and then watched her smile fade.

It smelled like citrus and turpentine, felt like a cold but muggy day in late spring. Peter closed his eyes and remembered a morning – Henrietta a week old, on her mother's lap, Olivia sitting against the headboard of their bed smiling softly.

"It's a blizzard out there," he'd said. "Make a wish!"

"Is that a thing," Olivia had smiled, barely glancing up from Etta. "''Cause I've never heard of it?"

"It is a thing. Just made it up. So tell me – your wish, my command."

"I wish we could stay in this room all weekend, the three of us."

"Keep them that simple… and all your wishes shall come true."

It was the last thing he saw behind his eyelids as the outside world went muffled and distant: Them together, two feet of snow holding the world and all its uncontrollable horrors at bay.

It was somewhere safe to stay - until he could open his eyes again. And they'd be together.

* * *

Astrid thought she was dying when she emerged, that it was only seconds later and the Amber was killing her. Except...light was supposed to fade to a pinpoint as you die, not grow. Your lungs were supposed to fail, not rally. She gasped and coughed and focused on them: The girl, the man – strangers, but clearly not Observers, smiles on their faces.

"You're okay, I'm Etta," the girl said and Astrid thought it had to be a lie until she heard another voice, warm and relieved at her elbow.

"Hello, Astro…"

* * *

Peter thought he was buried in sand, in a desert; pre- them, before Olivia and Walter, when he'd been wheeling and dealing and… some deal must had gone bad. They'd buried him in a slurry of sand and water and left him to die...

He coughed until he thought he'd be sick, sat up to unfamiliar faces, to empty holes in the amber next to him and two earnest young men in pea green coats and jeans looking a little frantic.

"Welcome," one of them said. "Your father and the lady... they're out already. We need to get you to them. There's a lot of work to be done."

"My daughter..." he'd said as they helped him to his feet.

"Aye, if we can help you find her... we will. What's her name?"

"Henrietta," he said, "Henrietta Bishop."

His heart sank to his feet at the shock on their faces, rose like an angel had caught it in her arms as they both grinned, nodding at him.

"Oh, yes. That can be arranged, sir. Come with us, please... there's no time..."

* * *

Walter felt like he was floating in cold water, in Reiden Lake. Felt like Nina was on the ice above, laughing at him, like September was hauling his sorry self to the shore.

But the man shaking him… that wasn't September. Taller. Far too much hair, which was to say any.

"Doctor Bishop, my name is Agent Simon Foster. It is a great honor…"

"And you, young lady…" Walter knew her immediately, recognized his boy's half smile, her eyes in a younger face. "You're very pretty…"

"Etta…" she said in return and her giving him the name told him her friend Simon, if he was her friend, didn't know their relationship. He could feel her relief at him playing along so very quickly.

His Etta hadn't fallen far from his Olive.

* * *

Olivia was sure she was in Jacksonville, choking on the fumes of a fire she'd set with her brain, her eyes, her terrified heart. She hadn't meant to she... hadn't wanted… to... Walter, I'm sorry, I don't understand... I...

The sensation faded as air flooded her lungs, as she felt strong arms pulling her up. Peter's voice calmed her pounding heart. "You're okay. You're okay. Breathe Olivia - breathe. Breathe. There you go…"

She barely remembered what she said, what they said after that, until the moment she looked up and into a girl's sweet, terrified eyes and lost her breath all over again.

"You're beautiful!"

"So are you."

She saw Peter's smile as she hugged Etta to her, and she felt she was his – that they were them again, and she knew it: Whatever happened next, even if everything fell to hell over and over and….

Somehow – they'd win.

There was no other answer.

~fin~

Note: Thanks to those who have read this story! It was a labor of love. From the first time I saw the epi where Peter talked about them having been separated, I wanted to explore that unseen span of time. I hope you enjoyed it.


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